


Wishful Thinking

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:17:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Be careful what you wish for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #7 under the pen name Gillian Holt. Co-written with the amazing Brenda Anders.

_"Be careful what you wish for… you might get it."_

 

          "Blackwood!"

          So intent was he on reaching his objective – a closed door deep in an alien stronghold – that Harrison Blackwood never heard the outraged yell behind him.  Several seconds later, however, he paid for his negligence when a slighter form than his plowed into him with all the force of an out-of-control locomotive.

          He felt the air rush painfully from his lungs as he was slammed up against a wall and pinned there.  Dazed, he could only stare owlishly into the furious face inches from his own.  Ironhorse.  _Now where the devil had he come from?_ he wondered blankly.  He hadn't heard him…

          "Blackwood, what the hell do you think you're doing?" the other man demanded.  But before the astrophysicist could pull enough air into his lungs to answer, the soldier took a step back, releasing his hold.  "Jesus, Harrison," he exploded shakily, "how many times do I have to tell you?  That door could be booby-trapped!"

          Harrison glanced at the door he had so nearly ripped open and swallowed as he belatedly acknowledged that very real possibility.

          "Sorry, Paul," he managed, his voice hoarse.

          "Sorry, Paul?  _Sorry, Paul?_ " Ironhorse mimicked, dark eyes glaring.  "You keep this up and we'll be able to file that under 'famous last words.'"  Giving Harrison a none-too-gentle shove, the solder turned a frown on the seemingly harmless door.  "Now, get the hell back down this corridor while I check it out.  And _don't_ come back until I tell you to."

          Feeling like a small boy being sent to his room, Blackwood obediently walked back down the corridor out of harm's way.  Then, as soon as Ironhorse's full attention was centered on the door, he promptly walked back.  Paul could yell all he wanted to, he decided grimly; there was no way he was going to scamper to safety and leave him to deal with the dangers alone.

          Blackwood stood silently behind the soldier as he crouched down and examined the door, his taut features pulled even tighter by intense concentration.  Then he heard a soft sigh of relief as Ironhorse slowly straightened.

          "All clear?"

          The officer wheeled around, his face darkening with anger.  "Blackwood!  I gave you an order—"

          "I know you did, Colonel," he said soothingly, patting the other man on the shoulder.  "But I decided to exercise my prerogative as head of this project and ignore it."  He smiled, nodding toward the door.  "Can we go in now?"  And without giving his friend a chance to answer, he reached for the doorknob.  A strong hand immediately clamped around his wrist.

          There was no humor in the Cherokee's black eyes as they locked with his.  "You stay behind me, mister," he said sternly.  "You got that?"

          His own humor rapidly fading, the astrophysicist only nodded.  After almost two years of fighting a covert war with the Mor-taxans, he knew the dangers well enough.  But, as usual, his scientific curiosity and natural impetuosity threatened to override his more sensible fears.  And, as usual, Paul Ironhorse was there to make sure he was the one who encountered any danger first.

          His Beretta drawn and ready, the soldier eased the door open, then stepped inside, weapon sweeping the room.  After a moment, he lowered the gun.  "It's clean," he announced, and moved aside to allow Blackwood to enter.

          Harrison strode impatiently through the doorway, his eyes trying to take in everything at once.  There were pieces of equipment he had never seen before – new alien technology to study – and two filing cabinets that had already caught Ironhorse's attention.  The soldier was busily rifling through the files inside, a small frown playing at his features.

          "Anything, Colonel?"

          Ironhorse sounded slightly annoyed.  "I'm afraid this is more your field than mine, Doctor.  We'll gather all this up and take it back to the Cottage.  You and Norton can go through it there."  He started to close the file drawer, then stopped.  "Well, what have we got here?" he murmured, reaching into the back of the file.

          His curiosity piqued, Harrison turned away from his inspection of a piece of equipment and wandered over to where Ironhorse was studying something in his hands.

          "What did you find?"

          The soldier held up a crystal about the size of a tennis ball.  "What do you make of this, Harri—"

          "Put it down!"

          Ironhorse's eyes widened in alarm.  "What?"

          "Put it down!  _Now!_ "

          There was a table a few feet away and Ironhorse dove for it, dumping the crystal out of his hand.  It landed with a soft thud, rolled a few inches, then stopped.  Jumping back, the soldier pulled his Beretta, aiming it at the offending rock as if he was afraid it was going to leap up and attack him any minute.

          "What the hell is it?" he demanded.

          Walking over to the table, Harrison leaned over and peered closely at the small glass-like piece.  "It's a crystal."

          "I can see that," Ironhorse snapped.  "Is it some kind of weapon, or bomb, or—"

          "Oh, I doubt it," Blackwood replied absently.  "It's just a crystal.  And I don't think you're going to need that gun," he added.

          Very slowly, very deliberately, Ironhorse lowered his weapon.  "Then what the hell was that all about?" he ground out between nearly clenched teeth.

          The tone of Ironhorse's voice made Harrison glance up, and he straightened hastily.  "Sorry, Colonel, but you remember the crystal at Fort Streeter Suzanne and I told you about – the one that changed our personalities when we touched it?  I was afraid it was one of those."  Frowning slightly, he studied the soldier closely.  No sign of any effects yet, but you never knew…  "How do you feel?"

          "How do I feel?"  Ironhorse shoved his gun savagely back into its holster.  "Oh, just dandy, Doctor," he retorted between now clenched teeth.  "After you damn near scared me to death!"

          Harrison grinned.  Well, that settled it.  No personality change there.  It was still his sweet-tempered, good-natured colonel.  "Well, it's apparently _not_ one of _those_ crystals, but we still don't know exactly what it is, or what it might do.  I don't want anyone touching it, just to be on the safe side."

          "Agreed, Doctor.  I'll make sure it's secured and we can take it back for further study."

          Harrison clapped him lightly on the shoulder, then made a bee-line for the door.  "Good.  Looks like we'll have enough here to keep us busy for—"

          "Harrison!"

          Ironhorse's aggravated voice stopped him in his tracks.

          "Where do you think you're going?"

          "That lab we passed.  I want to—"

          Ironhorse rounded the table, his limbs stiff in a sure sign of anger.  "Hasn't anything I've tried to teach you over the last two years made any impact at all?  You're not going anywhere in here alone!"

          The astrophysicist tried to stifle his sigh.  "Paul, the building's secure—"

          Standing toe-to-toe with the taller man, Ironhorse drew himself up straight.  "This building isn't secure until I say it's secure, mister."

          One look at the man's grimly determined face told Harrison argument was useless.  Still, he had to struggle with a nature that had never fully accepted taking orders – especially from the military – and especially if they were for his own good.  He tapped the soldier's chest with his forefinger.  "You know your trouble, Colonel?" he asked lightly, opting for a little humor to try to break the tension.  "You worry too much."

          But his attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.  The other man's face darkened.  "And you know your trouble, Blackwood?  You don't understand!  You never have!  You'd be singin' a different tune if the shoe was on the other foot!"

          Blackwood blinked, wondering where this tirade had come from.  "Paul, I didn't mean—"

          The soldier spun away, heading back for the filing cabinets.  But he stopped by the table at the spot where the crystal had settled, and turned back, jabbing his own finger at the scientist.  "I just wish you could spend a day in my boots, mister!  Then maybe you'd see what it's like!"

          Unnoticed by either man, the crystal on the table began to glow with a soft ruby light.  Then, after a few seconds, the light faded and it returned to its natural state.

          His black eyes snapping to a spot over Blackwood's shoulder, Ironhorse bellowed, "Coleman!"

          Blackwood squinted and looked around as the female Omega sergeant hurried inside.

          "Sir!"

          The officer strode past them both.  "Dr. Blackwood needs an escort," he said shortly.  "Don't let him out of your sight."

          "Yes, sir."

          Just before Ironhorse disappeared through the doorway, Harrison heard the muttered, "And keep him out of mine."

          Left alone with Norah Coleman, the scientist turned a rueful smile on the sergeant.  "The Colonel's a little cranky today," he explained unnecessarily.

          The woman's eyebrows peaked in agreement.  "Yes, sir."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse scowled at the unfinished report lying on his desk, then dropped his pen across it with a sigh and rubbed his aching eyes.  He'd stayed at the warehouse supervising the transportation of the alien equipment, while Blackwood returned to the Cottage to handle things at that end.  It had taken longer than either of them had anticipated and it had been nearly ten when he finally got back.

          He glanced at his watch and grimaced.  It was nearly midnight now, and he still didn't have this report ready for the general.  Ignoring the messages from a body that was craving sleep, he picked up his pen again.  A soft knock on the door brought his head up with a sigh.  There was only one person it could be at this hour…  "Yes, Doctor?"

          Pushing the half-open door with his foot, Harrison stuck his head around with a grin.  "Don't tell me you've added X-ray vision to your many talents, Colonel?"

          "Hardly," he replied dryly.  "Who else would be wandering around the house at this hour?"

          "Only one other person that I know of," Blackwood countered pointedly, and walked in, carrying two cups of steaming liquid.  "Thought you might like some."

          Thinking gratefully that it was coffee, Ironhorse accepted one of the mugs with a nod of thanks.  But as soon as the distinctive odor wafted nearer, he looked into the cup, eyebrows climbing.

          Hot chocolate.

          With marshmallows.

          He glanced up to see Harrison watching him, blue eyes twinkling.  Only Blackwood, he reflected, would bring him hot chocolate – with marshmallows, yet.  Ignoring the amusement in the astrophysicist's eyes, he took a healthy swallow, unconsciously relaxing a little as the sweet, rich liquid spread an unexpected warmth through his body.

          "It's been a long day," Harrison noted quietly, sipping from his own mug.

          Ironhorse nodded, maneuvering in his chair to try and work some of the kinks out of his back.

          "And a long week," Harrison continued, his tone turning serious.  "Why don't you call it a night, Paul?  You've got to be out on your feet."

          So that's what this was all about.  The colonel sat up a little straighter, ignoring the twinge in his protesting neck muscles.  "Negative, Doctor.  This report—"

          "Can wait," Blackwood finished firmly.  "Come on, Colonel, General Wilson isn't going to get that report tonight.  You've been out with Omega every night this week.  Why don't you turn in and get some rest?"

          The soldier's lips curved in a slight smile, but there was no real humor behind it.

          "God knows you've earned it."

          Ironhorse's eyes narrowed slightly.  Something was going on here, but he was damned if he could figure out what it was.  And, he decided, he was too tired to try.  It was hard enough keeping up with Blackwood when he was in top fighting form; and right now he doubted he could win a pillow fight with Debi.  Draining the last of the warm milk and melted marshmallows, he sat the empty cup on his desk and surprised them both by announcing, "I think I will."

          Blackwood's eyes widened, but he climbed to his feet as Ironhorse walked out from behind his desk.

          "Thank you for the warm milk, Doctor," he said politely.  "My mother used to do the very same thing when she wanted to get me to sleep."  Without giving the man a chance to reply, Ironhorse walked past him, adding crisply, "We'll begin going over that inventory at 0800 tomorrow."

          "Make it 0900," the scientist countered, "and you've got a deal."

          A deal?  The soldier's lean body practically vibrated with his suppressed sigh.  Civilians.  "0900," he conceded, drawing a quick grin from the other man.  "Good night, Doctor."

          He was almost out the door when Blackwood's quiet, but strangely hesitant voice, stopped him.  "Paul…"

          He turned back, eyebrows elevated.  Maybe now he'd find out what was really on Harrison's mind.

          "I know I don't understand – all the time," Blackwood offered, his tone apologetic.  "But I will try to do better."

          Oh, for heaven's sake.  Ironhorse gave his head a shake as his words from that afternoon came back to him.  He had been tired and tense, and his adrenalin still pumping from the battle.  Blackwood's flagrant disregard for his own safety had been the final straw…  So that's what was bothering him.

          Walking back to the other man, Ironhorse stopped in front of him, hands clasped loosely behind him.  "Harrison," he said carefully, "I don't care if you understand.  I don't expect you to.  I don't know how to think like a civilian anymore, so I can't expect you to think like a soldier."  He stopped then, his voice softening as his eyes locked with the troubled blue ones.  "All I want is for you to be more careful.  That's all."  Then, patting Blackwood lightly on the arm, he added blandly, "After all, if we lose you, we'd have to rename this entire Project.  Think of the cost."

          Ironhorse noted with satisfaction that his off-beat sense of humor had once again caught the scientist off-guard.  For as long as they had known each other, and as close as they had become, Blackwood still hadn't learned to anticipate his dry, and often capricious, wit.  And he planned to keep it that way.

          "How thoughtless of me, Colonel."  The man actually sounded a bit annoyed.  "I'll try to bear that in mind from now on."

          Ironhorse felt the right side of his mouth begin to twitch.  "I'm sure the taxpayers will appreciate that, Harrison."  Turning, he sauntered from the room.  "Good night."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The colonel was still grinning as he undressed for bed.  As much as he hated this war, and the sorrow and pain it had brought, he occasionally thought about what his life would have been like without Harrison Blackwood in it.  He had decided long ago that it wouldn't have been nearly as interesting.

          Stretching out carefully, he sighed as his head hit the pillow.  He was asleep within minutes.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison Blackwood awoke slowly, blinking blearily as a stray ray of sun sneaked past the curtains and warmed his face.  Another blink or two and he realized he was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.

          Frowning, he turned his head, then sat up quickly as his surroundings registered.  He was in bed all right – but that was impossible.  The last thing he remembered was taking a nap at his desk last night.  His eyes narrowed.  And not only was he in bed, he wasn't even in _his_ bed.  This was Ironhorse's room.

          Wide-eyed with confusion, he scrambled to his feet, then groaned, his hand flying to his lower back.  _Now where the hell had that come from?_ he wondered, massaging the stiffness that wouldn't let him straighten.  After a few moments, he managed to bring himself upright, but grimaced as another ache – this time in his leg – made itself known.

          For a man in perfect physical shape, he certainly had a lot of aches and pains this morning.  And what the hell was he doing in the colonel's room anyway?  He glanced down at his naked body.  And where the hell were his clothes?

          He did a quick search, but only found Ironhorse's clothes, neatly hung in the closet and neatly folded in the dresser drawers.

          Bewilderment was rapidly turning into irritation, and Harrison stalked across the room to the adjoining bath in hopes of finding a bathrobe.  Flicking on the light, he stepped inside to look around, then froze, staring into the mirror.

          It wasn't his face staring back at him.  It was Paul's.

          His hands barely supported him as he placed them flat on the sink and leaned closer to the mirror, eyes wide – black eyes.

          Black hair… with a few thin streaks of silver…  One hand shook as he raised it, raking his fingers through the straight, dark hair.  Definitely not his hair.  Paul's.

          His hand dropped to his side and he straightened slowly, still staring at the lean, angled features in the reflection.

          Okay, he decided finally.  It was either a dream or a hallucination.

          Lifting a hand, he jabbed at the mirror with one finger, wincing when he made contact with the hard surface.  That shouldn't happen in either a dream or a hallucination.

          "Oh.  My.  God."

          Turning, he stumbled out of the small bathroom and dove for the closet, jerking out the first clothes he saw – a plaid shirt, black jeans and boots.  He had to find Ironhorse.

          A quick search of the upstairs provided no answers.  Ironhorse wasn't in his – rather, _his_ – bedroom, and all the other doors were shut and the rooms dark.  Everyone else was still asleep.

          Quickly, he made his way downstairs and headed for the colonel's office.  It was empty and dark.  Heading back into the hallway, he stopped short when he glimpsed a light under his closed office door.  That looked ominous.  Taking a deep breath, Blackwood steeled himself, then stepped forward and threw the door open…

          And there was…

          Damn it, it was _him!_   He!  Himself!  Harrison God-damned Blackwood!  Sitting behind his own desk, legs propped on the untidy surface, blue fishing hat tilted down over his face.  But it couldn't be him, because he was standing right here…

          "Ironhorse!"

          The blue-eyed man behind the desk shot bolt-upright, hand flashing toward his side for a weapon that wasn't there.

          For long, awful moments, the two of them stared at one another, a mixture of horror and confusion frozen on their features.

          Finally the silence was broken by an outraged, "Blackwood, what the hell's goin' on here!"

          Harrison leaned weakly against the door frame.  "Paul.  Thank God.  I thought I was losing my mind."

          "What do you mean you thought you were— Look at you!"  Jumping to his feet, Ironhorse pointed at him.  "You— You—"

          Then the awful realization hit and he looked down at his own body.  Eyes wide in disbelief, Ironhorse stalked across the room to a small mirror on the wall and Blackwood saw his body stiffen.

          "Look at me!"  Whirling around, the colonel glared at the other man.  "What the hell—!"

          "I don't know, Paul.  I don't know!"  The astrophysicist held up his hands in an attempt to stop the flow of words from the soldier.  "All I do know is that I woke up in _your_ bed, in _your_ room… in _your_ body.  And I came down here and found you – in _my_ office, at _my_ desk… in _my_ body."

          "But, damn it," Ironhorse sputtered, "this isn't possible!  It _can't_ be happening!"

          "It _has_ happened," Blackwood pointed out logically. "Therefore, it _is_ possible.  What we need to know is how, and why."

          "Blackwood, if this is your idea of a joke—"

          Despite himself, Harrison grinned.  "I wish I could take credit for this one, Colonel, but unfortunately, even my imagination – and resources – don't go quite this far."  Suddenly curious, he looked at the other man.  "Paul, how do you feel?"

          The other man scowled.  "What?"

          "How do you feel… physically?"

          "I feel—"  Ironhorse stopped and frowned, seeming to think about it.  "I… feel… fine."  Blackwood watched at he stretched his back cautiously.  "Fine," he repeated.  He sounded puzzled, then his face cleared and he shot the astrophysicist a sharp look.

          Blackwood grinned ruefully.  _Yeah, your aches and pains came with the body.  Now I know what you go through every day_.  He shook his head slightly.  _How do you do it?  You jog, you train, you run the squad into the ground and outwork men half your age_.  He grinned at the soldier, half in admiration, half in wonder.

          _Well_ , Harrison thought, _you said you wished I could spend a day in your boots…_ His head snapped up.  "That's it!"

          "What?  What's it?  Blackwood, what are you—?"

          But the scientist wasn't listening.  Stalking past Ironhorse, he rummaged hastily through his desk until he found it.

          The Cherokee officer snorted as Blackwood brought out his tuning fork.  "Here we go again," Ironhorse muttered.  "Harrison, I'm warning you…"  And he really did sound serious.  "…if I find out this is some kind of damned practical joke…"

          But whatever else he was saying was lost to Blackwood as he tapped the small instrument against his desk and moved it slowly back and forth, concentrating on the vibrating sound waves.

          They were in the alien warehouse.  They were standing by the table.  They were arguing… again.  Ironhorse was angry… again.  Ironhorse said, "I wish you could spend a day in my boots, mister!  Then maybe you'd see what it's like!"  And then…

          Then he remembered.

          The crystal.

          Something happened.  It only lasted for a couple of seconds, but it happened just when Paul said…  "That's it!"

          Ironhorse planted himself in front of him, hands on hips.  "What?" he demanded.  "What's it?"

          "The crystal," Harrison said thoughtfully.  "Paul, it was the crystal."

          Ironhorse's face – or rather, _his_ face – went blank.  "What crystal—?"  Then it dawned.  "You mean that rock we found at the warehouse?"  He waved that aside.  "No way," he said decisively.

          "No way?"  Harrison placed his hands on the other man's shoulders and held him still.  "Paul, look at me.  _What_ do you see?"  When the soldier simply glared, he shrugged.  "You have a better explanation?"

          Breaking away, Ironhorse turned and started to pace around the room.  "I don't have any explanation," he admitted grudgingly.  "All I know is…"  His voice faded as he ran his fingers through his hair, encountering unaccustomed curls.

          "Yeah," Blackwood said dryly, recognizing the stunned reaction, "I know the feeling."

          The soldier turned back, his face pale.  "Oh.  Shit.  Harrison, what are we gonna do?" he whispered.

          Blackwood's mind was already turning the problem over.  "The first thing we do is pay that crystal a little visit.  Maybe we can figure out a way to undo this."

          For the first time, wary hope lit the blue eyes.  "Undo it?  How?"

          "Well, maybe you could… take your wish back."

          "Take my wish back?" Ironhorse echoed impatiently.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

          He really didn't remember.  Blackwood hesitated, wondering how to best break it to him.  Deciding there was no gentle way, he walked over to the other man and dropped a hand on his shoulder.  It was like looking into a mirror.  A mirror showing a very confused, very irritated reflection.  "Paul, you remember what you said yesterday—?"

          "I said a lot of things yesterday."

          "You were standing by the table, by the crystal.  You said…"  He smiled wanly.  "You said I didn't understand.  You said—"

          "I said," Ironhorse interrupted, his eyes widening in awful comprehension, "that I wished you could spend a day in my—"

          "Boots," Harrison finished, clapping him on the shoulder.  "Looks like you got your wish, Colonel."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          They stood in the lab, staring at the small, innocuous crystal nestled snugly in the metal box.

          Ironhorse was scowling.  "You expect me to believe that just because I touched this thing, this… _rock_ granted my wish like some kind of Aladdin's lamp or something?"

          "Or something," Harrison agreed, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms across his chest.

          "I don't believe it," the other man said flatly.

          Big surprise there, Blackwood thought as he continued to contemplate the crystal intently.  "Maybe we could put it to the test," he suggested absently.

          The soldier shot him a sharp look.  "If you're thinkin' what I think you're thinkin'…"

          "What's the problem, Colonel?" Harrison asked, one black eyebrow arching.  "I thought you didn't believe this thing could grant wishes."

          "I don't," Ironhorse replied immediately.  But he didn't sound as convinced as before.

          "Then what can it hurt?"  Blackwood turned back to the box.  "I'll try it this time."

          As he reached out to touch the crystal, long fingers gripped his wrist.  "Don't touch it, Harrison."  Ironhorse's voice was calm, but firm.  "We still don't know what this thing might do.  I've already handled it once… I'll do it."

          Blackwood pulled his hand back with a suppressed sigh.  It really didn't matter what body he was in; Ironhorse was Ironhorse.  "Okay, Paul, give it a try."

          Hesitantly, Ironhorse picked up the crystal and held it in one hand.  "What should I wish for?" he asked doubtfully.

          "I doubt if it could handle anything like world peace, so I think we'd better keep it simple – how about a nice cup of hot tea?"

          "How about a nice cup of hot coffee?"

          Harrison shrugged.  "It's your wish."

          Ironhorse took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then squeezed his eyes shut.  "I wish… I had… a cup of coffee."  Then, without opening his eyes, he asked, "Anything?"

          Harrison glanced around, eyebrows hiked in anticipation.  He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting -- a cup to materialize out of thin air? – but there was no change around them.  "Nothing," he reported, deflated.

          Opening his eyes, Ironhorse tossed the crystal back into the box in disgust.  "I told you.  How I ever let you talk me into—"

          "Paul!  Look!"  Grabbing the other man's arm, Harrison pulled him around to face Norton's coffee machine in the corner of the lab.  Both men stared as a thin stream of black liquid began trickling into the glass coffee pot.

          It was Ironhorse who found his voice first.  "Norton probably just had it set on the timer," he said faintly.

          "It doesn't have a timer."  Blackwood let out a breath.  "Do you believe me now?"

          Slowly, the blond head nodded.  "I believe you."  Then frustration colored Paul's tone.  "But, damn it, Harrison, I wish you'd— mmph!"

          Blackwood clapped his hand hurriedly over the soldier's mouth in alarm.  "Easy, Paul!"  Swallowing, he added shakily, "Remember that old adage:  Be careful what you wish for… you might get it.  I think that might be particularly appropriate under the circumstances."  Harrison's finger pointed in the direction of the apparently dormant crystal.

          Blue eyes wide above Harrison's gag, Ironhorse only nodded.  When Blackwood finally removed his hand, the other man's face was pale.

          "Sorry."  Ironhorse took a deep, none-too-steady breath, then looked imploringly at the astrophysicist.  "Now what?"

          Now what, indeed.  Harrison didn't answer right away, studying the latent crystal, a thoughtful frown on his face.

          The colonel puffed in impatience.  "This thing grants wishes, right?" Ironhorse pressed.  "So I just take back my wish, right?"

          The colonel sounded edgy, and Blackwood spared him a quick look.  "Maybe," he said cautiously with a slow single nod.

          "What do you mean, 'maybe'?" the soldier demanded.  "This thing—"

          "Is an unknown, Colonel.  We don't know how it works, we don't know—"

          "We know it grants wishes," Ironhorse interrupted impatiently.  "So all I have to do is wish—"  Breaking off, he cast a nervous look at the stone.  "You know," he finished lamely.

          "We can try that," Harrison said doubtfully, "but I'm not sure it works that way.  But we'll try," he added hastily, seeing the look on the other man's face.  "Just be careful how you phrase it, Paul."  He clapped Ironhorse lightly on the arm.  "We wouldn't want you to say anything we'll both regret."

          "I already regret it," Ironhorse muttered.  Then he straightened, his face set in determination.  "All right, here goes."  With deliberate movements, he reached out and picked up the crystal again, his hand curling into a fist around it.  "I wish…"  He took a quick breath, then finished in a rush, "I wish I was back in my own body, damn it!"

          This man took his wishing seriously.

          Both men stood stock still, waiting for… something… anything.  But several seconds passed with no change in their situation.  Finally, Blackwood shrugged.  "Looks like it doesn't work that way."  Then he grinned.  "Either that, or you're out of wishes."

          The soldier's answer was succinct and to the point.  "Well, fuck!"  Ironhorse turned sharply away and began pacing agitatedly through the lab.  "Now what?"

          "It looks like we're stuck – at least for a day.  I suggest we make the best of it."

          "The best of it?"  The soldier wheeled around.  "There is no 'best' to this situation, Doctor!  I'm stuck in your body!  How do you expect me to function this way?"

          "You make it sound like you got a bad deal on a used car, Colonel," Blackwood pointed out, slightly annoyed.  "Just what's _wrong_ with my body?  I'm in top physical shape, I eat right, I take vitamins—"

          "There's nothing wrong with your body, Harrison," Ironhorse interrupted, a little testily.  "In fact…"  A rueful smile suddenly creased his features.  "In fact, it probably feels a lot better than the one you're in right now."  Then his smile faded and his tone turned serious.  "But how am I supposed to function as— as— a _soldier_ in this body?  How am I supposed to lead my men like this?  What if we have to go on a mission or—"

          "Take it easy, Paul.  There's a simple solution – we simply tell your men, and Suzanne and Norton, of course, what happened—"

          "Like hell!"

          Blackwood blinked.  "But why—"

          "Because no one would believe us, that's why," the officer hissed.  "I know that wouldn't bother you – everyone already thinks you're nutty as a fruitcake—"

          _Why, thank you, Colonel._

          "—but I'm not going to have this on my record!"

          Maybe Paul had a point.  "All right, so we don't tell anyone."  Blackwood agreed with a shrug.  "It's only for one day.  I think we know each other well enough to pull this off."

          "I'm not sure I want to know you _that_ well," Ironhorse grumbled.

          Harrison grinned.  "Think of it as a learning experience, Paul.  Besides, it might be kinda fun."

          "Fun?" Ironhorse echoed.  "I _won't_ be having fun today, Harrison!"

          "Why not?" he said casually, enjoying the growing irritation on the other man's face.  "I mean, how hard can it be… being you for one day?"

          Blue eyes narrowing dangerously, Ironhorse took the few steps necessary to bring him toe-to-toe with Harrison.  "You just might find that out, mister," he said in a deadly calm tone, "when you take Omega out on that fifteen mile hike scheduled for this morning."

          "Fifteen mile hike?" Harrison repeated faintly, the dismay plain on his face.

          A slight, malicious smile curled the colonel's lips.  "Just think of it as a learning experience, Doctor."

          It crossed Harrison's mind that the colonel was beginning to enjoy this.  His own lips spread as a logical solution presented itself.  "I'll cancel it."

          "Cancel it?"  Ironhorse was outraged.  "You can't—"

          "Of course I can," he retorted smugly.  "I'm a colonel, remember?  Colonels can do those kinds of things."  Black eyes twinkling mischievously, he clapped the taller man on the shoulder.  "See?  I'm learning already."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse stared glumly at the plate of fresh fruit Mrs. Pennyworth placed in front of him.  Mounds of melons were bad enough, but the cup of hot herbal tea at his elbow was almost too much for him to take.  He needed coffee and he needed it _now_ , damn it.

          Grinding his teeth together, he refused to look up, all too aware of Harrison sitting across the table from him with that damned smirk on his face.  He listlessly jabbed the prongs of his fork into a chunk of cantaloupe and raised it to his mouth.

          It was then that he saw their housekeeper emerge from the kitchen with another plate.  It lifted his spirits immeasurably.

          Harrison, busy grinning at the colonel, never saw it until it was too late.  In a well-practiced move, Mrs. Pennyworth slipped the steaming plate of eggs and sizzling bacon right under the astrophysicist's nose.  It was almost worth taking a sip of the pale green tea to see Blackwood's expression.

          Ironhorse settled back in his chair, ready to enjoy himself.  Let's see you get out of this one, mister vegetarian.

          For a moment, Harrison's face was blank as he confronted the savory curls of fried bacon that covered half his plate.  Ironhorse tried to ignore his own watering mouth while he watched his friend's expression.

          "Mrs. Pennyworth."  The scientist looked up with a beguiling crooked smile.  "I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass on the bacon and eggs this morning."

          "Pass, Colonel?"  The housekeeper looked surprised.  "Is there something wrong?  I made them just the way you like them—"

          "No, no, there's nothing wrong," Harrison assured her hastily.  "It's just that…"  He managed to steal a look at Ironhorse.  "I have to start watching my cholesterol."

          "Your cholesterol?"  Ironhorse's tone was deadly.  "I didn't know there was anything wrong with your cholesterol, Do— Colonel."

          "There isn't," Blackwood said cheerfully.  "And I plan to keep it that way.  Besides…"  He patted his stomach.  "I seem to have put on a little weight recently—"  He broke off as Ironhorse choked on his orange juice.  "Are you all right, Doctor?" he asked solicitously.

          The soldier wiped his mouth with his napkin while Debi helpfully patted his back.  "Oh, I'm just fine," he bit out.

          Harrison smiled.  "Good.  I think I'll just have some fruit – like the doctor's having, Mrs. Pennyworth."  He patted his stomach again.  "I noticed the other day my uniform was getting a little tight.  Maybe I'd better cut back for a while."

          Suzanne finished her coffee and got to her feet.  "Well, if you've put on weight, Paul," she said dryly, "you must be hiding it somewhere else."  Turning to her daughter, she urged, "Come on, sweetheart, you'll be late for school."

          Debi drained the last of her milk, then jumped to her feet, full of youthful energy.  "Coming, Mom."  As she rounded the table, she stopped by Harrison.  "Don't forget, Colonel, you promised to help me with my school project tonight."

          "Mmm, right, Debi, I remember."

          The young girl leaned closer, whispering, "And you promised to give me another riding lesson, too."

          "Deborah," her mother chided.  "What did I tell you about that?  The Colonel may not have time—"

          "The Colonel always finds time to take Debi riding," Ironhorse interrupted quietly.  "Don't you, Colonel?"

          Meeting Ironhorse's gaze across the table, Blackwood nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.  "Yes… he does."  Turning, he gave the girl a quick grin.  "I wouldn't miss it."

          Her face lighting up with a smile, Debi gave him a kiss on the cheek.  "Thanks, Colonel!" she whispered.  Then, as she passed by, she gave Harrison a quick kiss for good measure.  "Bye, Harrison!"

          "Goodbye, Debi," Ironhorse said softly.  "Have a good day."

          Once Debi and Suzanne had left the room, Harrison scowled at Ironhorse from across the table.  "What school assignment?  And riding lessons?"

          Ironhorse took a sip of his tea, decided it tasted every bit as bad as it smelled, and got to his feet.  "Just think of it as another learning experience, Doctor," he said, leveling a stern glare at the other man.  "And a chance to work off some of those 'extra pounds' you put on."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse sat behind Harrison's desk and scowled at the confusion of papers, files and journals that littered the top.  How did Blackwood work like this?  His disapproving gaze took in the chaos of the rest of the office.  How could _anyone_ work like this?

          With a sigh of impatience, he set himself the task of organizing Harrison Blackwood's life.

          An hour later, Ironhorse stood back and admired his handiwork.  Now _this_ was an office – a place for everything and everything in its place.  That was the military way.  By God, this office would even pass his inspection now.

          Settling down once again behind the now cleared and spotless desk, he smiled contentedly.  Now he could finish that report to General Wilson.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Colonel?  Paul."

          Harrison blinked his eyes open to find himself staring into the lovely, but puzzled, face of Suzanne McCullough.  For an instant, nothing registered.  Then his eyes flicked past the woman to rest on the ceremonial buckskin shirt hanging on the wall, and it all came back in a rush.  He was in Ironhorse's body, in Ironhorse's office, behind the soldier's desk… and he had been napping.

          Oops.

          "Paul, are you all right?"

          With as much nonchalance as he could muster, Harrison lifted his feet off the immaculate surface of the desk and straightened.  "Of course, Suzanne," he said politely.  "Why wouldn't I be?"

          There was a slight frown of worry on the microbiologist's face as she studied him.  "You were… asleep."

          "Asleep?"  He tried to look appropriately offended in a cranky sort of way.  "I wasn't asleep, Suzanne.  I was… thinking."

          "Thinking?"

          "That's right, Doctor," he replied, getting to his feet and assuming his best Paul Ironhorse no-nonsense tone.  "Thinking…  Even soldiers do that occasionally."

          Suzanne's hazel eyes lingered on his face for a few extra moments before she shrugged.  "If you say so, Colonel."  But she didn't sound convinced.  "Norton wants to see us downstairs.  He fed some of that data into the Cray that you brought back yesterday, and he thinks he might have something.  Have you seen Harrison?"

          "I think he's in my— his office," Harrison corrected hastily.  "I'll get him."  Without giving her a chance to say anything else, he bolted from the room, leaving a bemused Suzanne staring at his retreating back.

          Blackwood knocked quickly on the closed office door, then pushed it open and stuck his head inside without waiting for a reply.  "Paul—"

          He broke off, his black eyes widening in horror as he took in the sacrilege.  "What the hell did you do to my office?" he hissed out.

          Ironhorse straightened in his chair, blue eyes wide with innocence.  He blinked.  "Do, Doctor?"

          Stepping inside, Harrison slammed the door behind him.  "Do, Colonel," he snarled.  "What did you _do_ to my office?"

          A slow, easy smile spread the other man's lips.  "I put a little order into your life, Harrison," Ironhorse said calmly.  "You should try it sometime."  He turned his attention back to the neat stack of papers in front of him, obviously trying to keep his amusement from bubbling over.  "No need to thank me."

          "Thank you—"

          "You're welcome."

          "Colonel?  Harrison?"  Only Suzanne's impatient voice from outside the door kept Blackwood from vaulting over the desk and 'thanking' the colonel then and there.  "Norton wants us in the lab… now."

          "Coming, Suzanne," Ironhorse called out cheerfully.  Pushing himself to his feet, he pulled himself up to his full six foot two height and sauntered past the smaller man.  "Coming, Colonel?"

          "That's not funny, mister!" Blackwood snapped, as the soldier ambled past.

          Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, Ironhorse turned back, blue eyes twinkling.  Harrison was already starting to sound more like a soldier every hour.  "You mean you're not having 'fun' yet?"  One sandy eyebrow arched at Harrison's flustered expression.  "Then you _must_ be doing it wrong, Doctor."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse stared in barely concealed confusion at the jumble of numbers dancing across the Cray's screen.  Norton had been talking for the last five minutes in language that might well have been ancient Greek as far as he was concerned.  Of course, from the look on Blackwood's face, the man knew exactly what Drake was talking about.  That was fine for Harrison; but _he_ was the one Norton and Suzanne were looking at now, expecting some sort of brilliant theory on what all these dancing numbers meant.

          To buy time more than anything else, he leaned a little closer to the screen, squinting.  Damn, those numbers were small.  Fuzzy, too…

          A subtle throat-clearing sound from Blackwood made him glance up to see the astrophysicist pointedly pat the pocket of the plaid shirt he wore.  Automatically, Ironhorse copied the gesture, his face clearing in understanding when he felt the wire-framed glasses nestling there.  That explained the fuzziness.

          Lifting the glasses out of his pocket, he settled them on his nose and adjusted the distance between his face and the screen.  Well, now he could see the numbers; but he still didn't know what they meant.

          "Well, what do you think, Doc?" Norton asked expectantly.  "We haven't seen anything like this before."

          "No," he agreed slowly, "we sure haven't."

          "So," Norton pressed, "what do you think?  I know you've gotta have a theory on this."

          "Yes, Doctor," Blackwood spoke up helpfully, "we know you've got to have a theory on this.  And we'd just love to hear it."

          Ironhorse examined the amused scientist through narrowed eyes.  _You're going to pay for this, mister_ , he promised.

          Then he turned his attention back to the problem at hand…  The problem was, he wasn't Harrison Blackwood.

          Normally that would be considered a blessing, not a problem.  But he had no idea what kind of theory he was supposed to expound here for these people.

          His military-trained mind began searching methodically and quickly for an escape route.  Just think of it as a training exercise, he told himself grimly.  There's a way out; there's _always_ a way out.

          Then, quite unexpectedly, he discovered the solution… in Blackwood's pocket.

          He could barely suppress his grin as his fingers curled around the scientist's trusty tuning fork.  Sometimes stalling was a valid course of action.  And sometimes – like now – it was the _only_ course of action.

          He noted with satisfaction the flicker of irritation that crossed Blackwood's face as he held up the small memory-jogging device.  This was going to be beautiful.  As he had seen the astrophysicist do countless times before, Ironhorse pinged the tuning fork against the side of the table, then held it up to his ear and tried to look thoughtful.  He must have been convincing, because the hushed atmosphere was broken suddenly by a snort of disgust from Harrison Blackwood.

          "Maybe you should try a _salad_ fork."

          Ironhorse turned an indulgent smile on the other man.  "And maybe you should try to open your mind a little, _Colonel_."  It felt good to be on the other end of the exchange for a change.

          "Open my mind?!"  Blackwood was positively spluttering.  "You're telling _me_ to open _my_ mind?  I'll have you know—"

          "Come on, big guy, admit it," Norton said with a grin, "we all know that military mind of yours is like a steel trap – a very tight, very solid steel trap.  And steel traps aren't exactly known for their ability to expand."

          Blackwood rounded on the computer genius.  "Are you saying I'm closed-minded?"

          Suzanne was trying very hard not to laugh.  "Well, if the Army boots fit…" she murmured under her breath.

          Blackwood straightened, his face darkening.  "I'll be in my office," he announced stiffly and marched from the room, his boot heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor.  Ironhorse grinned triumphantly.

          Turning to Norton he clapped the man in the shoulder.  "I don't know what these are, Norton, but I'm sure you'll come up with something, or I'll get a flash of inspiration sooner or later."

          Suzanne's amusement faded immediately.  "We shouldn't have teased him like that."

          Ironhorse shrugged.  "He's a big boy; he can take it."  I've been taking it for two years now.  It's time Harrison got a dose of his own medicine.

          "Yeah, but I don't think that's the point, Doc," Norton added soberly, with a glance at Suzanne.  "Are you going to tell him, or should I?"

          The soldier frowned at them both.  Now what?  "Tell me what?"

          "We're worried about Paul," Suzanne said seriously.

          "Worried… about Ironhorse?"  The officer blinked, the concept as foreign to him as the numeric codes Norton had been rambling about earlier.  He shook his head decisively.  "There's no reason to worry about the Colonel," he said crisply.

          "I'm not so sure, Doc."  Drake's dark eyes held a hint of real concern.  "I was upstairs earlier and went past his office, and you know what I saw?"

          God only knew.  Ironhorse shook his head reluctantly.

          "The big guy…" Norton retorted, his voice full of meaning, "…was standing on his head."

          "He was—?"  _Standing on_ my _head, you mean_.  Ironhorse jammed his hands into his pockets so the other two couldn't see his clenched fists.  _You are dead meat, Blackwood_.

          "And that's not all," Suzanne added.

          _If you've been burning incense in my office, Blackwood, it's a firing squad…_

          "When I went up to tell him Norton wanted us down here…"  Suzanne paused, looking decidedly worried.  "He was sleeping."

          "He was what?"  The man was an absolute menace.  Sleeping – in _his_ office, behind _his_ desk… in _his_ body.

          "He was sleeping," the woman repeated.  "I had to wake him up.  Harrison, that's not like him.  The colonel does _not_ take naps at his desk in the middle of the morning."

          "Sounds like there's something wrong with our soldier, all right," Drake agreed.  "But what?"

          "He's been out on missions with Omega every night this week," Suzanne pointed out.  "Maybe it's just a case of exhaustion."

          "The man doesn't know when to stop," Norton commented.

          Ironhorse drew himself up straight.  "Now see here—"

          "On the other hand," Drake continued thoughtfully, "maybe it's stress."  He turned his dark eyes in Ironhorse's direction.  "He's lost two men this week," he reminded them, "and he's got one in the hospital hanging on by a thread.  I know this isn't his first war, and I know he's lost men before, but you can't tell me he's ever gotten used to it."

          "No," Ironhorse said quietly, "you never get used to it."  He looked away, a disturbed frown creasing his features.  He had been following this conversation with a sort of detached fascination, but now he felt a sense of growing discomfort.  He shouldn't be hearing any of this.

          "We think you should talk to him, Harrison," Suzanne said seriously.

          He turned back, his eyes wide.  "Me?"

          "Come on, Doc, don't tell me you're not just a little worried about our soldier, too."

          He was at a loss.  "Me, worried?  About Ironhorse?"

          "Yes.  You.  Worried.  Ironhorse."  Drake poked him in the chest.

          "You were worried enough the other night when he took off like the Lone Ranger after those aliens and we lost contact with him.  Stravakos practically had to handcuff you to the van to keep you from charging off after him."

          "Well, that was different," he mumbled uncomfortably.  _Blackwood, will you never learn?_

          "Different or not, I think there's something wrong, and I think you should try to talk to him," Suzanne repeated, more forcefully this time.  "He might open up to you, Harrison," she added in a softer tone.

          Drake nodded.  "He trusts you."

          He looked at them both, a myriad of emotions churning inside him like a cyclone.  "He trusts all of yo— us."

          "It's not the same, Doc."  Norton shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips.  "And don't ask me how you two did it, either.  The first few weeks we were here, I don't think you and the big guy had a conversation under two hundred decibels."

          A small, wistful smile played at his lips.  "I remember."

          "So do we," Suzanne assured him.  "Will you talk to him, Harrison?  Please?"

          "What exactly would you like me to say to him, Suzanne?" he countered, exasperation touching his tone.  "That you and Norton are quote unquote worried about him?"

          "I'm sure that would get his attention," the woman agreed dryly, "but not the kind we want."  Touching his arm lightly, her tone turned serious.  "Just… talk to him.  If it's stress, or exhaustion, or losing these men, just try to get him to go a little easier on himself.  Sometimes I think he believes he's the only thing standing between us and every alien on this planet."

          "Sometimes," Drake put in mildly, "he is."

          Ironhorse watched as their eyes met.  Suzanne nodded.  "I know," she said, her voice very soft.  "Believe me, I know.  But I don't like to think of Paul as some sort of alien-proof vest for the rest of us.  He's our friend.  And I don't like to see him suffering."

          "Darn right he is, and we don't."  Norton grinned.  "He's _our_ colonel.  So, what do you say, Doc?" he asked, turning to Ironhorse.  "Are you gonna talk to him, or do we have to form a committee?"

          Ironhorse looked at them both, and, for a moment, his mind blanked.  What the hell was going on here anyway?  He was supposed to be protecting them, not the other way around.  They sure as hell weren't supposed to be worrying, especially about him.  He did the worrying around here.

          Drawing himself up, he took a deep breath, then slowly nodded.  "I'll talk to him."  After all, he didn't have much choice.  It was either him or a committee.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison sat behind Ironhorse's desk, a tight, satisfied smile on his lips as he methodically scattered papers, books, paper clips, and anything else he could lay his hands on, over the soldier's desktop surface.  After all, turnabout was fair play.  The colonel put a little order into his life, so he'd just put a little disorder into the soldier's.

          A quick no-nonsense rap on the door brought his head up, and his smile widened in anticipation.  This ought to be good.  "Enter."

          The door opened and, as expected, Ironhorse walked in, closing the door behind him.  But, quite unexpectedly, he gave the cluttered desk only the merest glance before walking over to the window and staring outside, hands clasped behind him.           Frowning, and a little alarmed, Blackwood got to his feet and joined him.  Even in profile, he could see the look of intense preoccupation on the officer's face.

          "Paul, what is it?  What's wrong?"

          "Nothing's wrong… exactly."

          Blackwood relaxed a little.  His first fear had been aliens, but if it had been that, Ironhorse would have told him without preamble.  "Okay then," he pressed in a lighter tone, "what exactly is it?"

          Ironhorse turned, and Blackwood blinked in surprise.  The colonel looked positively shell-shocked.  "Suzanne and Norton," he said slowly, "wanted me to talk to you."

          Which meant they wanted _me_ to talk to _you_ , Blackwood translated.  This could be interesting.  "And what did they want you to tell me?"

          The soldier gave a brief, little laugh, but there was no humor behind it.  "They were worried about you… me.  Oh, hell."  He turned back to the window.

          It didn't take Harrison long to put the pieces together.  He was pretty sure Norton had glimpsed him standing on his head earlier.  Okay, he should have known better, but he needed the inversion to refocus himself and get his thoughts back together.  And Suzanne had seemed pretty disturbed when she caught him napping.  With the intense alien activity of the past week – and some of Paul's close calls – everyone was a little edgy anyhow.  It wouldn't have taken much to prompt some heart-felt concern if they thought something was wrong with their colonel.

          He studied the profile of the man lost in his own thoughts.  That little conversation in the lab must have been a learning experience of another kind for him.

          "That surprises you, doesn't it?"  Harrison offered a sympathetic smile as Ironhorse turned a blank look on him.  "That they— we all worry about you sometimes."

          That drew a half-hearted scowl from the other man.  "I don't need—"

          "We know you don't, Colonel.  But we do it anyway, just to annoy you."

          Ironhorse's scowl deepened as he turned away, staring at the window.  "Not funny, Blackwood."

          Smiling to himself, Harrison laid his hand on Paul's shoulder.  "What's really bothering you, the fact that we care about you?"  He squeezed the stiff shoulder under his hand.  "That's something even you should have picked up on a long time ago, or the fact that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time just now?"

          A sigh exploded from the other man and he turned away from the window to face him.  "I felt like a damned eavesdropper, Harrison," he said plaintively.  "Suzanne and Norton thought they were talking to you.  It felt like… a betrayal of trust."  He started to run his hand through his hair, then stopped and let it drop to his side.  "Even if we wanted to— even if we had to we couldn't tell them the truth now.  Not after that.  You… were right.  We should've told them in the beginning.  This…"  He shook his head.  "This is wrong."

          Harrison could only shake his head as well.  He really shouldn't be surprised that, while he saw this as a strange, but fascinating experience, Ironhorse would somehow find a way to see it as a violation of his deep sense of honor.  But then, he hadn't been the one downstairs with Suzanne and Norton.

          "It's not for much longer, Paul," he said gently.

          Ironhorse turned a baleful look in his direction.  "It's not even noon yet, Harrison.  We've got the whole freakin' day ahead of us."

          He conceded that with an encouraging smile.  "We'll just try to stay out of everyone's way for the rest of the day.  If we can get through the afternoon and dinner—"

          "And Debi's school project and riding lesson."

          Blackwood made a face; he'd forgotten about that.  "Yeah, and that, then we should be home free."  He slapped the other man on the shoulder.  "Why don't we both just put up 'do not disturb' signs and lock our doors for the duration?"

          Ironhorse nodded, but he still looked troubled.  "I just hope the aliens recognize 'do not disturb' signs, Doctor.  If the squad is called out—"

          As if on cue, the phone of the colonel's desk rang.  The soldier automatically moved toward it, only to be stopped by Harrison's arm blocking his path.  "Better let me, Colonel," he said dryly.  "You're not yourself right now, remember?"

          The other man frowned, but stood back as Blackwood picked up the phone.

          Ironhorse fought his impatience as the astrophysicist answered his phone, listening closely for any clue as to what the conversation could be about.  _Please, don't let it be General Wilson_.  That would be all he needed.  A proud Army career dashed to pieces in a matter of minutes.

          "Derriman?"  Harrison's brow furrowed as he listened.  "No…  Yes…  I'll be over."

          Handing Ironhorse the handset, he watched the soldier replace it.  "What?" Paul asked.

          Blackwood shrugged.  "He just asked if I was busy and if I could come over to the coach house for a moment."

          Ironhorse paced around the desk and back to the window.  "That's all?" he asked, leaning back against the pane.

          "That's it," the scientist said, turning for the door.  "Guess I better go see what's up."

          Ironhorse pushed away from the window, grabbing the man's arm before he could escape.  Concerned blue eyes bored into black.  "Doctor, be careful… please."

          The black eyebrows arched gracefully.  "Paul, trust me," Harrison said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison stopped at the coach house door and raised his hand to knock, but stopped short.  Did colonels have to knock?  He wasn't sure.  Gripping the knob, he shrugged, took a deep breath, turned, and marched in.

          "'Tenhut!"

          Blackwood started slightly at the shouted order, his eyes widening as the soldiers in the kitchen snapped to their feet.

          "Huh, that's okay," he stammered out.  "I'm… I'm just visiting," he finished lamely.

          Derriman appeared at Blackwood's side, a slightly concerned expression on his face.  "Sir, why don't we do this in my office," he suggested, motioning the colonel toward the hallway.

          Harrison nodded, saying, "After you, Sergeant."  He really would have to learn the layout of the soldier's quarters better, for future reference.

          Derriman looked surprised, but headed off, the astrophysicist trailing behind.  When they reached the small office, Harrison slipped into the comfortable chair opposite the Omega Squad First Sergeant's desk and waited for the man to speak.  The soldier looked nervous, or at least uneasy.  He'd have to be careful, have to act colonel-ish – whatever that was.

          "Colonel," Derriman said, sitting down, "the squad and I have been talking, and, with your permission, we'd like to recommend Dr. Blackwood for an Exceptional Civilian Service Award."

          The dark eyes narrowed slightly.  "A what?" Blackwood asked suspiciously.  What could they be up to?  What was that?  Why would they possibly want to do it?

          Derriman's gaze dropped to his semi-cluttered desktop.  A sure sign of a more balanced mind as far as Blackwood was concerned.

          "Sir, I know you and Dr. Blackwood have your differences…"

          _That's not the half of it_ , the astrophysicist thought.

          "…but he saved this tired old butt, and we think he deserves the recognition."

          Blackwood blinked.  "He what?  How?"

          Derriman drew in a deep breath.  "The other night, at the floor wax warehouse…"  He looked to the colonel and received a nod to continue.  "You told Dr. Blackwood to stay with Goodson and Chew…"

          "Yes, he— I did…" Harrison replied, remembering the moment, and the irritation he'd felt when Paul had forced him to remain behind.

          "Well, sir, he did stay with them…" Derriman said, a wry smile crossing his face.  "…until the shooting started."

          Blackwood's brow furrowed.  Had he waited _that_ long?  The memory of the jolt of fear exploding through his gut came back with a rush.  He hated waiting, especially when he didn't know where Ironhorse was or what was going on.

          "Goodson responded when Alverez went down, and Dr. Blackwood and Chew headed farther into the warehouse.  They entered the room I was sweeping, and Dr. Blackwood, seeing that I was in danger, picked up a chair and charged an alien.  Chew finished him off, but if the doctor hadn't acted when he did, there's a damn good chance I'd be pushing up roses right now.  I didn't see the man, didn't hear him coming.  I told you, sir.  I'm gettin' too old to be a target."

          Blackwood felt his cheeks color.  "You aren't _that_ old, Sergeant."  He hadn't done anything exceptional.  All he did was what had to be done in the circumstances.  Surely they didn't give men medals for that. "I don't know—"

          "Sir," Derriman interrupted abruptly, "I'm sorry, Colonel, but Dr. Blackwood deserves this.  Hell, sir, they all do.  For civilians they're damned good soldiers, and recognition of that fact is overdue.  I mean, we do our best to make sure they stay safe, but most of the time they take care of themselves and help take care of us.  We're all proud to be here, sir."

          The black eyes shifted to stare at the floor.  Now he knew _exactly_ how Ironhorse had felt when Suzanne and Norton had talked to him earlier.

          "I see," he said to stall.  What would Ironhorse do?  Would he go along with this?  Harrison Blackwood getting a medal from the United States Army?  Would Paul think he deserved it?

          He nodded.  "If you think so, Sergeant."

          Derriman's face split into a grin.  "We knew you'd go along with it," he drawled.  "But we wanted to run it past you first."  He glanced up at the clock hanging on his wall.  "Well, sir, don't wanna make you late for lunch."

          Harrison's eyes flickered to the time piece.  Oh, boy.  Another round was coming up.  Looking back to the sergeant, he pushed himself to his feet, feeling the twinge of pain in his lower back.  How _did_ Paul do it?

          "How's Corporal…?" he asked, feeling guilty that he couldn't remember the young soldier's name.

          "Egon, sir?"

          Harrison nodded, silently deciding that he would make it a point to know every man by name by the end of the week.

          Derriman's face grew more solemn.  "He's still hanging in there, sir, but there hasn't been much improvement.  Private Finkman's at the hospital.  He'll call if there's any change."

          Harrison nodded slowly.  "Keep me up to date, Sergeant."

          "I will, sir, and…"  He reached into his desk, pulling out two files.  "You wanted the Simon and Shantz files?"

          Accepting the two brown folders, Blackwood frowned.  What were these for?  He hoped he could just take them with him…

          "Don't get any easier, does it, Colonel," Derriman said softly.

          Then it clicked:  The two Omegans who had died.  "No," Blackwood choked out.  Of course.  Paul would have to write letters to the families of these men…   _My, God_ , Harrison thought, _how many soldiers had they lost?  How many of these had Paul written?_

          His gaze drifted up to meet Derriman's.  There was the same guarded shadow in the non-com's eyes that he'd seen in the colonel's, and for the first time Blackwood thought he understood a little better where it came from.

          "Thank you, Sergeant," he said softly, and Derriman saluted in reply.  Harrison returned the gesture, making sure he executed it as perfectly as he could.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse met him at the door.  "So, what was it?" he demanded, trailing Blackwood into his office.

          Harrison walked around the colonel's desk, catching sight of two medals sitting on Ironhorse's shelves.  Paul's casual dismissal of his earlier inquiries about what they were for echoed through the scientist's mind.  He was just doing what had to be done, Ironhorse had said.

          Blackwood paused and gave a short, soft laugh.  Paul was always just doing what had to be done… just doing his job.

          "Doctor…"

          The voice was irritated, and Harrison turned, placing the two file folders down on the disheveled desktop.

          "Nothing important, Colonel," he reassured.  How in the world was he going to explain authorizing a medal for himself?  "Uh, Corporal Egon's hanging in there."

          Blackwood watched the relief wash across Paul's face.  So, that's it.  He thought the Egon had died…

          The anxious expression was replaced by a somber seriousness when the colonel recognized what the files were.

          "I think you better write these letters," the scientist said, reaching out to tap the folders.  "I don't think I could do these men justice."

          The comment caught the soldier off-guard, and his blue eyes flickered to Blackwood's present black.  He nodded sharply.  "I'll take care of them."  He stepped forward and picked the folders up, tucking them under his arm.  "I explained to Mrs. Pennyworth that we were going to be working.  We shouldn't be disturbed for lunch.  That'll buy us a few more hours."

          "Good idea," Blackwood said, regretting the missed opportunity to tease the soldier the meal would have provided.  "So, what exactly are _we_ going to be working on, Colonel?"

          The eyebrows rose in a lazy arc.  "We, Doctor?  I have two letters to write.  _You_ have some homework to do.  We wouldn't want Debi to suffer just because you aren't up on your history of the North American tribes, now would we."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison sat behind the colonel's desk, his nose buried in a book about the role of the Cherokee in the Civil War.  It was fascinating reading, and he missed the first soft knock that sounded at the closed door.

          He couldn't have missed the second.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Finishing the two letters, Ironhorse leaned back in the comfortable leather chair and stretched.  His back didn't hurt like he'd expected, and he smiled ruefully.  Blackwood's body did have a few perks.  He heard Debi arrive at his office door, and hoped the scientist had finished the reading he had left him with.  She tapped softly, but there was no reply.

          Where was Blackwood?  Standing, he walked out to join the girl.  _If he's standing on his head again…_

          "Hi, Harrison," she said, looking worried.

          "Something wrong, Debi?" he asked.

          She shrugged, glancing back at the closed door.  "Maybe I better not ask the Colonel about the riding lesson…" she said, trailing off.

          "Why not?" he asked.  There was no way he was going to let Blackwood weasel his way out of this.  Debi enjoyed the lessons too much for that.  Although he wasn't at all sure how they could pull it off…

          "He seems real tired," she explained, sounding like a miniature version of Suzanne.  "He works too hard."

          The right side of Ironhorse's mouth tipped into a half-embarrassed crooked grin.  He reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder.  "Debi, there's lots of tired."

          Her head cocked to the side, her eyes squinting in confusion.

          "There's the tired you get when you stay up too late, watching television…"  She grinned, very familiar with that one.  "…and that has to be cured with a good night's sleep.  And there's the tired after you've been working, doing physical labor, and that just takes a few days of going easy to get rid of.  But there's another kind of fatigue…"  He trailed off, wondering why it was so important that he make Debi understand.  "…that's a tiredness in the spirit, Debi.  And the only way to fix that is with… family… friends… having fun.  And I know that giving you riding lessons is the best cure for a colonel's tired soul.  So, what are you waiting for?  Go get him."

          Debi smiled, and gave Ironhorse a spontaneous hug.  "Thanks, Harrison."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison jumped at the banging rattling Ironhorse's door.  It opened, spilling in Debi and the colonel.

          Blinking bird-like to refocus, he realized that it must be time for the girl's riding lesson.  He sighed internally.  _He_ didn't know how to ride.

          In fact, the closest he'd ever gotten to a horse was an occasional guided trail rides he'd been forced to take with girlfriends.  How was he supposed to handle this?

          It was clear Paul wasn't going to be any help, not if the smug, gloating smile on _his_ face was any indication…

          "Ready, Colonel?" she asked enthusiastically.

          "Sure, Debi," he replied with false cheerfulness.  Standing he motioned the pair toward the door.  "No time like the present."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison and Ironhorse waited while Debi brushed Solomon and Ulysses down, then slipped bridles over their heads when she finished.

          "Bareback today?" she asked Harrison hopefully.  He looked to the colonel, who gave his head a slight shake.

          "Uh, better not today.  Next time," the scientist said.  Debi frowned, disappointed, but headed off to get her saddle.  He turned back to the soldier.  "Paul, I can't do this.  I don't know—"

          "How to ride.  I know," he said softly.  "And we can't take any chances with Debi's safety.  I'm working on it…"  He trailed off.

          The girl returned, and quickly saddled the chestnut gelding.  Once Solomon was ready she smiled happily at Ironhorse, reaching out to put Ulysses's reins in his hand.

          Harrison took a deep breath, but before he could speak, the colonel interrupted.

          "So, let me see what you look like warming Solomon up."

          "Okay," she said, leading the horse out and into the riding arena.  Swinging up, she and the gelding headed out at a brisk walk.

          "Now what?" Harrison asked, passing the roan's reins back to the soldier.

          "Now you're going to give _me_ a riding lesson, Doctor," Ironhorse said quietly, rolling up onto the horse's bare back.

          "What?" the scientist squeaked.

          "See those low jumps set up over there?" the colonel asked, nodding toward a series of three poles resting on fifty-gallon barrels that had been turned on their sides.

          "Yeah…" was the skeptical reply.

          "Tell Debi that you're going to work on jumping them.  We've already done the preliminaries.  After she makes the jumps tell her to work on keeping her center of balance over Solomon's."

          Blackwood's lips moved as he memorized the line.  He nodded absently at Debi as she cantered by.  Ironhorse waved.

          "Tell her not to lean so far forward, to keep her back straight, her elbows tucked in, and—"

          "Whoa, Colonel," Harrison said sarcastically, trying to keep it all straight.

          "What's wrong, Harrison?" Paul asked innocently.  "Having trouble keeping up?"

          The black eyes narrowed.  "Why don't you giddy-up and outta here," he half-growled as Debi pulled the gelding to a stop next to them.

          "Are you getting a lesson, too?" she asked the mounted Blackwood.

          "No, Debi, I don't think the Colonel's up to that," he said with a smile.  "I'm just here to observe."

          "Speaking of a lesson," Harrison interrupted.  "Let's get started.  See those poles over there…?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Walking back to the Cottage Harrison realized that riding lessons were a lot more complicated, precise, and taxing than he'd ever imagined.  Giving his companion a sidelong glance, he couldn't stop himself from reaching out and clapping the colonel's shoulder.

          "What was that for?" Ironhorse asked, the blue eyes widening.

          "For making sure that Debi had a good lesson.  You're pretty amazing, Colonel."

          The man's cheeks turned a rosy pink.  "I just didn't want her to suffer for our mistake."

          " _Our_ mistake?" Blackwood questioned.  "I don't recall asking that crystal if we could switch places for a day."

          Blue eyes narrowed.  "Fine."

          The corner of Harrison's mouth tipped into a lop-sided smile.  "At any rate, I appreciate you making me look good."

          Ironhorse's walk stiffened.  "I wasn't making you look good, Doctor.  I was saving my reputation."  He shot the man a hard look.  "And, for your information, it's called a _trot_ , Blackwood, _not_ a skip."

          Harrison shrugged.  "It looked like a skip to me…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse started despondently into the large bowl of leafy green salad sitting in front of him.  Looking up, he gazed longingly at the plate of pork chops less than two feet away.  His mouth watered and he swallowed hard.

          No.  There was absolutely no way he could reach out and take one, not without getting caught.  He sniffed, his eyes sliding half-closed at the aroma.  His stomach rumbled noisily.

          "Something wrong, Harrison?" Suzanne asked, interrupting Ironhorse's fantasy of cutting into one of the thick breaded chops.

          "Huh?" Blackwood and the soldier replied in unison.       

          Norton looked up with a grin.

          "I asked if anything was wrong," she repeated.

          "No, nothing," Ironhorse replied.

          "It looked like you were a million miles away, Doc," Drake added.

          No, Mr. Drake, just a couple of feet…  His eyes flickered to Blackwood, who was enjoying a salad of his own, the 'cholesterol' pretense still holding.

          "Guess I've just been spending too much time staring at candles and resting on my head," he replied casually.

          Harrison choked.  The others chuckled, and Blackwood's retort was cut off by the blaring notes announcing the reception of alien transmissions.

          Norton glanced down at his watch.  "Right on schedule," he muttered, tossing his napkin on the table beside his plate.  "Battle stations, Gertrude."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "It's just like the last six nights," Norton said, ripping the printout free and scanning it.  "But it's not an industrial location this time."

          "Where is it?" Ironhorse asked.

          Drake glanced over his shoulder at the astrophysicist.  "Well, Doc, from the location I'd guess a barn.  It's out in the middle of nowhere on the way to Modesto."

          "I'll get my gear," the colonel said, stalking off.

          "Me, too," Harrison agreed, starting out after Ironhorse.  He paused, turned, and strode back to the pair.  Reaching out he gently gripped the microbiologist's shoulders.  "Suzanne, I want you to stay here this time," he said in his best Lieutenant Colonel voice.  "I… I have a strange feeling about this one."

          She thought for a moment.  Ironhorse's instincts could be uncannily correct at times.  "All right, I'll stay," she agreed with a nod.  "But be careful."

          "Always, Suzanne," Blackwood said, heading for the stairs.

          Suzanne and Norton exchanged worried looks, the hacker folding his arms across his chest.  "You know, if I didn't know better I'd swear someone switched their bodies," he commented dryly, still staring at the empty stairwell.

          "Exposure to Blackwood is effecting his brain," Suzanne said, trying to fight the fear that was already coiling up in her chest.

          Norton snorted.  "I know what you mean, Doc."  He sobered.  "Think they'll be okay?"

          "I hope so, Norton.  I hope so."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blackwood's hands were shaking.  Ironhorse had forced him to dress the part and he was a walking arsenal.  He reached up and pushed the red beret back a little farther, then yanked it off and shoved it into one of the oversized pockets of the field jacket he wore and readjusted the comm-link.

          Beside him Ironhorse crouched behind the long feeding rack twenty yards away from the alien controlled building.  Norton had been right, it was barn, on a large dairy farm.

          The colonel's fingers closed, itching for a weapon.  He glanced at Blackwood.  The man was not happy, and he didn't blame him.  The whole charade was wearing on them both, and now this…

          "Red Leader, this is Red One.  The perimeter is secured.  Roger?"

          "Affirmative," Ironhorse whispered, listening in with a comm-link of his own.

          "Affirmative," Blackwood repeated.  He felt his dinner turn over in his stomach and took a deep breath.  What was wrong with him?  He didn't get this anxious in the field…  He looked at the colonel…  But then he was never leading men into battle before, either.

          "Red Leader, this is Red Two, we have activity.  Over?"

          "Report," was the hissed response.

          "Report," Blackwood repeated.

          "Looks like about fifteen of them, inside the building.  There's lots of cows in there, too, and it looks like they have a couple of hostages tied up."

          "Hostages?" Harrison asked, his gaze cutting to Ironhorse.

          "I can make out three women tied up in the first stall.  Can't make out what the aliens are doing, but they're moving pieces of equipment around."

          "Red Leader, Red Three.  We have activity here, too.  Six loading containers onto a flatbed.  Over?"

          "Right, Red Three," Harrison said, winning a smoldering glare from Ironhorse.  "Uh, roger."

          "Tell them to wait," the colonel said softly, his hand moving up to cover the receiver.  It was nearly dusk and the reduced light would help cover their approach.

          "Just sit tight," Harrison relayed, then flipped the receiver up so it was no longer in front of his mouth.  "Now what?"

          "Taking the barn with hostages could be tricky," the colonel said, his mind racing ahead with possible approaches.  "There's a lot of cover in there."

          "We can't wait for them to come out," Blackwood argued.  "I have to get in there and see what they're doing."

          "Harrison, they have hostages.  They're our first priority."

          Blackwood's jaw pulsed.  "I know, but I want to see what they're doing.  If I don't—"

          "Red Leader, Red One.  It looks like they're getting ready to…  They're forcing the hostages to drink…  Oh, shit, I think they're dying."

          Ironhorse's hand snapped out, pulling Blackwood's comm-link free of its power pack.  "This is Blackwood.  The colonel's comm-unit is out, I'm relaying orders.  Red Three, move in, secure that truck.  Red One take the south-side entrance.  Red Two, move in.  Go, people!"

          Reaching out, Ironhorse grabbed the sleeve of the scientist's field jacket and pulled Blackwood to his feet.  "Stay with me," he ordered, leading the way forward to the side of the large barn.  Inside gunfire mixed with screams from dying aliens and the bellows of the nervous cows.

          "Red One, inside, now!" the colonel ordered.

          "Red Leader, Red Three.  The truck is secure, repeat, the truck is secure."

          "Roger Three, move to the west side of the building and wait for my word."

          Blackwood reached up and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a shaking hand.  The weight of responsibility Ironhorse shouldered pressed down on him.  One wrong word and some of them would die.  Thank God, Paul had acted quickly and was commanding his people.  If he'd been forced to do it…

          "Red Leader, Red One, we're clear, repeat, clear."

          "Red Two, they're moving this way."

          Blue eyes stared intently at the building.  Harrison knew that Ironhorse wanted to be in there with his men.  It was where he belonged.  If anyone died…

          The colonel nodded to himself.  "Red Three, move in."

          The level of gunfire rose, the death screams of the aliens becoming more intense.  In moments it was oddly quiet, even the cows falling silent.

          Ironhorse edged to the south side doors, glanced in, then moved into the building with Blackwood right behind him.  In the first stall the three women lay in bizarrely contorted poses, their eyes open and unmoving.

          "Damn it," Ironhorse breathed.

          "Red Leader, Red One, all clear."

          "Red Two, all clear."

          "Red Three, we're clear, too."

          "Anyone down?" Ironhorse asked, and received three negatives.  No injuries, no causalities among the Omegans.

          The squad's medic slipped into the stall and began examining the women.  Looking up at Blackwood he shook his head.  "They're dead, sir."

          Harrison looked away, his lips pressed together in frustration.  They'd been to late for them.  He looked back to the medic.  "Get a sample of what they gave them, but be careful."

          "Yes, sir," the medic said, standing and heading off to get the equipment he needed to gather the samples.

          The inside lights came on and Harrison glanced around.  Like they'd found at the other sights, the building now housed a weird assortment of alien devices, most of which was made from bits and pieces of everyday machinery.

          "Well, well, well.  What do we have here…?" Blackwood said, starting off only to be intercepted by Ironhorse and Coleman.

          "Sir," she said, "only one possible straggler, but so far nothing.  The building's essentially secured."

          Blackwood nodded.  "We'll need to get this equipment loaded and taken to Streeter with the rest of the stuff we've located."

          Coleman nodded.  "I'll get on it, sir."

          Ironhorse stepped up to the first contraption, his gaze roving over the assemblage of parts, making up who knew what.  Reaching out he was about to examine a small lever, but Blackwood's hand snapped out, stopping him.

          "What?" he barked at the scientist.

          Black eyes twinkled with mischief.  "Doctor, how many times do I have to tell you?  That could be booby-trapped!"

          The blue eyes narrowed dangerously.  "Har— Colonel," he growled.

          "Sergeant, see to it someone keeps an eye on the Doctor while I have a look around, will you?"  Blackwood smiled and headed off.

          "Yes, sir," she replied.

          Ironhorse ground his teeth together.  What the hell did Blackwood think he was doing?  Didn't he hear Coleman's report?  There was still the possibility of an alien lose in the building!  The colonel started to follow the retreating scientist, but Coleman stepped into his path, halting him.

          "I'm sorry, Doctor, but you'll have to wait here until I can free someone up to accompany you."  She glanced back at the retreating back.  "I guess the Colonel's still a little cranky."

          Cranky?  Eyebrows rose over wide blue eyes.  "I see," he said.  _Blackwood, you_ will _pay…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse paced restlessly.  Where the hell was Blackwood?  Why hadn't he come back?  Why hadn't someone come to escort him into the building to find the scientist?

          He glanced down at his watch.  _Because it's only been ten minutes_ , he answered his own question.

          He stopped, hands resting impatiently on his hips.  Well, shit.  No wonder Blackwood was always ignoring his orders – this waiting was for the birds.  Glancing covertly around, he waited for an opening, then slipped farther into the building.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A burst of gunfire erupted several rows over and the colonel dove into one of the stalls, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.

          "Damn it," he breathed, pushing the inquiring bovine's nose out of the way.  Easing out of the stall he crept along the rows of cows until he found an intersecting corridor.  There was no movement.  No sound.

          _Blackwood, if you get yourself killed, I'll personally ring your neck…_   He paused, a shiver prickling along his back.  What would happen if Harrison was hurt, or killed?  Would he be stuck in Blackwood's body?  He shook his head and continued on, making his way along the filled stalls.  There was no more fire.

          Maybe it was the alien who'd tried to hide.  Maybe it was just a faulty weapon.  Maybe—

          The boot just peaking out of the stall twitched.

          His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, and Ironhorse pulled out the Geiger-counter, training it in the direction of the downed man.  Nothing.  He returned the device to his pocket and approached the still form, easing into the stall.  It was him…

          "Blackwood?"

          Ironhorse dropped down next to the unconscious man, gently rolling him over.  The vulnerable, almost boyish face disconcerted the colonel.  Was that what Harrison saw, what they all saw?

          The scientist groaned, and Paul reached out, helping him to sit up, but keeping one hand firmly on Harrison's shoulder to steady him.  "Easy.  What happened?"

          "Heard the shots," Blackwood said, forcing his eyes open and reaching up to rub tentatively at his head.  "Slipped in here for cover…"

          "Good," the soldier acknowledged.  If the man wouldn't use a gun he'd better know when to hide.

          "Forgot about the cow," he slurred.  "I think it kicked me."

          Ironhorse's blue eyes widened.  His looked quickly around.  If any of the Omegans heard that…

          "Uh, let's get you up," he suggested, standing, and pulling Blackwood to his feet.  "Can you walk?"  At least the man was okay.

          Harrison nodded, reaching up to brush aside a wayward shock of black hair.  Did he really look like that, Ironhorse wondered.

          "Yeah.  I'll be fine…"

          "Glad to hear it," Ironhorse mumbled under his breath.

          Together they emerged into the corridor, Derriman and Coleman trotting up to join them.

          "Sir," Norah said, "we got the last one."  She took a closer look, Ironhorse noting the concern that flashed into her eyes.  Didn't his people know better?  "Are you okay, sir?" she asked, reaching out to brush the hay off his shoulder.

          Blackwood nodded.

          "He just took a little tumble in the hay," the colonel explained.

          Blackwood and the two soldiers all turned to stare at him.  Ironhorse's cheeks colored and he hastily brushed the few pieces of hay off of his own jacket.

          "I don't think that came out quite right, _Doctor_ ," Harrison growled.  "And, _what_ are _you_ doing _here_ without an escort?  Didn't _I_ make it clear?  Didn't _you_ understand?  _What_ part of 'no' do you seem to being having trouble understanding?"

          Ironhorse's shoulders hunched in irritation.  He turned, smoldering blue eyes boring into the astrophysicist's.  "I heard the shots.  If you think I'm going to stand there—"

          Blackwood took a step closer.  "Doctor, it's for your own good, your protection.  We've been over this time and again."

          Ironhorse's expression turned deadly.

          "There doesn't appear to be any traps," Derriman interrupted.  "I'm free, Dr. Blackwood.  You can explore to your heart's content."

          "I appreciate that, Sergeant," the soldier sighed.  "Have him start near the entrance," Blackwood replied smugly.  Boy did that feel good!  Still, Paul had looked worried.  "I appreciate your concern, Doctor, but I really am careful – most of the time."

          Ironhorse took a deep breath, reached out, snaring Blackwood's arm and marching him off a few feet.  "I wish I was back in my own boots, Blackwood," he ground out lowly.  "I'd kick your—"

          On Harrison's clean desktop the metal box sat, the lid open.  Inside, the small crystal glowed a soft ruby red, the light fading away after a few moments.

          "Colonel," the scientist countered, looking at left wrist.  Finding no watch, he checked the right.  "We only have a few hours to go.  I'm sure you can make do for that long.  I really do wish you'd learn to relax a little."

          Ironhorse shook his head.  It was a useless argument.  He gave Blackwood a small lop-sided grin.  "Maybe we both should, Harrison.  Let's get back to work."

          The astrophysicist grinned back and nodded, slipping his arm over the colonel's shoulder.  "That's the best thing I've heard all day."


End file.
